Death, A Scary Thought
by UglyBettyForeverandEver
Summary: What if Jal never had the abortion? What if the grief took the best of her? What if everything that was hoped for her, was thrown back into her face? Read and find out!


Title: Death, A Scary Thought

Pairing: Jal/Chris

Summary: What if Jal never had the abortion? What if the grief took the best of her? What if everything that was hoped for her, was thrown back into her face? Read and find out!

A/N: My first tragedy. I've had this idea for a while. I LOVE Jal and Chris. Why did Chris have to die? Anyway, there's not much more I can say, so read and review my pretties!

Death…what a scary thought. Let's review what happened recently that led me up here:

I threw up for the umpteenth time. I'm about two months pregnant. Chris is gone. My music career was over: I didn't make it into music college. All the seats were filled. Once again, I get the short end of the stick.

A week ago, I walked up to my room and assembled my clarinet. I played 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' for the baby, and a grin seeped onto my face. For just a moment, a flash of a fantasy rushed by me: I was bouncing a little baby on my leg in the middle of a park. The baby placed a small kiss on my nose and I giggled. Crawling back into reality, I realized Chris wasn't in the fantasy. I threw down my clarinet and it rolled around on the carpeted floor. My stomach contorted, and I puked again. I remembered his dead body in the middle of the room, left there by Cassie. So pale, so hopeless, so…dead. I remembered taking his face into my hands and shaking it, shaking it, shaking until I soaked in my own tears. I found the note from Cassie that said, "His last word was Jal," and I realized, I could've been there! I could've been there to help him, but I was at an audition. Maybe not getting into music college was my punishment for not being there for him.

The idea crossed my mind a few times before since his death. Before, I thought everything would be okay. He'd get a job, I'd finish college, and we'd raise the baby together. But then, he got sick. And then, he…he…

died.

The idea of dying didn't seem so scary anymore. Being dead would mean I could be with Chris again, and the baby, who would die with me. It seemed like such a perfect idea.

A few days ago, I went to the hair salon. Told them to chop all of my hair off. I couldn't sleep but I was never tired in the morning. I was avoiding my friends. I'd go to the cemetery everyday, telling Chris to prepare for our arrival.

I was going insane. I've been taking drugs. Been smoking.

Yesterday, Michelle came over and demanded to know what was wrong.

"Nothing," I told her, though my voice was masked with sorrow. "I'm fine. Happy as a bug in a rug." I handed her a box of memoirs that I put together a few nights ago.

"What is this?" she asked, taking the box and then inhaling some smoke.

"Don't open it until tomorrow," was all I told her. I left her a note in there, explaining why and how I would commit suicide. She knew I wouldn't say more on the subject, so she went to leave. Before she could, I placed a kiss on her forehead. The last thing I said to her was, "I love you, but I won't be such a downer at parties anymore."

So now it's today. I woke up, and immediately followed the events my letter said I would do. The events Michelle were probably reading now.

_8:00 in the morning, I will wake up and get a cup of coffee. _

So I got up and drank my coffee.

_8:45, I will go into my room and assemble my clarinet._

I put my clarinet together.

_8:50, I will warm up._

Chromatic scale. Twice.

_9:05, I will take all of my clothes off except my bra and panties._

So I did.

_9:10, I will make my way up to the roof of my house with my clarinet, ignoring my brother and father's remarks._

The floor felt cold against my bare feet. My slight baby bump was sticking out.

_9:20, I will shiver against the brisk morning._

I did. Uncontrollably.

_9:25, I will play Ode to Joy, which isn't joyful at all._

It sounded great outside. It echoed across the street.

_9:45, I will walk to the ledge of the roof and look down into the bustling street._

Long way down.

_9:50, I will stand on that ledge. You know Michelle, if you read this earlier than everything was happening, you should be bursting through the door right about-_

"Jal!" You scream.

_10:00, I throw my clarinet into the street._

"Jal," you sob. "Don't do it!"

_10:05, I will look back at you Michelle and say two words._

"Fuck it," I say.

_10:10, I jump. Goodbye Michelle._

"JAL!" And I did.

A/N: So? Wadja think? I'm really proud of it, however depressing it is. I wrote it just how I imagined. Read and review!


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